Chapter 3

Livia Solene

I should say no to him. He’s still a complete stranger, after all. A dangerous, tattooed enigma who owns a high-end club that clearly pulls in terrifying amounts of cash.

He’s not going to kidnap me for ransom, right?

“We’re here,” Dante murmured, cutting through my spiraling thoughts as he killed the engine of his sleek sports car right in front of Balboa Park.

I stopped questioning myself the second I realized I was already here, trapped willingly in his orbit. Dante got out, closing his door. I peered outside through the tinted glass and blinked. The sprawling park parking lot was completely empty. Not a single car in sight. The sprawling grounds looked ghostly quiet, abandoned to the afternoon sun.

My door clicked open. I looked up into Dante’s face, catching a slow, wicked grin. The silver piercing on the side of his lip caught the glaring sunlight, glinting like a threat.

“Come here, mi reina.” He extended a large, calloused hand toward me, and without a second thought, I slipped my fingers into his.

I stepped out of the low-slung car, and before I could even find my footing, Dante leaned over and carefully closed my door for me. A pang of bitter contrast hit my chest. My husband, Vincent, would never open a car door for me. Half the time, he wouldn't even wait for me to catch up, let alone look back.

“Where are the other people? This is a public park, right?” I asked, my voice laced with genuine confusion as I stared at the empty green lawns.

“I rented the whole place, mi reina.”

“The whole place?”

“Yes. I wanted this whole place for us.”

Is he trying to show off? Is he trying to impress me? Because if he was, it was terrifyingly effective.

He didn't give me time to process it. He closed the remaining space between us, snapping a heavy arm around my waist and pinning me right against his solid frame. I let him do it. This was just a reckless, three-day getaway. We were two ships passing in the night, meant to forget each other the second I caught a flight back to New York and closed the book on this chapter of my life.

“Let’s walk,” he murmured against my hair.

We drifted toward the massive, glittering lily pond. His arm never left my waist, holding me flush against his side. I was wearing a light blue summer dress that fluttered in the warm coastal breeze, perfectly suited for the glaring California sun, while Dante wore a simple, dark black tee that strained against the heavy, corded muscles of his broad shoulders and faded jeans.

“You lived here your whole life?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the water.

“Born and raised.”

I stopped abruptly in front of the white wooden railings, staring down at the dark, swirling water of the pond, framed by towering palm trees and a picturesque, castle-like stone house sitting at the far edge.

I leaned my back against the safety of the railing, but Dante immediately crowded into my space. His heavy arm slid lower, pressing flat against my stomach, refusing to surrender a single inch of my waist.

“I’m from New York,” I shared, my voice dropping into a softer register. “Born and raised. Even though both of my parents are actually Italian.”

“How did you even end up marrying an asshole?” he spat, his eyes darkening.

Before I could answer, his hands clamped firmly onto my hips. With terrifying, effortless strength, he hoisted me right off the ground and set me down squarely on top of the wide wooden railing. I let out a sharp gasp, my legs parting automatically as he stepped directly into the space between my thighs. He occupied every single fraction of my air, his tall, imposing body caging me in, his face inches from mine.

“It’s my parents' choice,” I whispered, breathless.

“So you are a good girl?”

A jolt of pure, liquid heat pooled instantly between my legs at the rough, possessive rasp of the words. Good girl. Vincent hadn't looked at me like this in years. Hell, he never had. When our sex life died, Vincent had blamed me, weaponizing his own failures and my lack of compliance, entirely blind to his own rotting performance and wandering dick.

Shit. My internal alarms blared. I shouldn't even be having these thoughts. Entertaining the idea of crossing that final line with Dante felt like playing with a loaded gun.

“I see,” he added, his lips curling into a knowing, wicked smirk, as if he could read the exact shameful heat blooming across my skin. “You flew here from New York to run away. Why not run away forever?”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. That was a childish fantasy. My parents would hunt me down the second Vincent reported my absence, tightening their iron leash until I couldn't breathe.

“If I run, I will forever hide.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s just walk around,” I muttered, my pulse hammering too fast.

I shoved my hands against his chest, dropping back down to my heels. I spun on my heel and tried to walk away, but he moved like a predator, closing the distance in a single stride. His hand clamped back around my waist, anchoring me to him.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the San Diego sky in bruised shades of purple and orange, Dante invited me back to The Inferno.

As we pushed past the heavy velvet ropes and stepped into the club, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The moment the patrons milling near the entrance caught sight of Dante walking through his domain, their bodies went rigid. They didn't just step aside because they actively dropped their eyes to the floor, terrified to even cross his line of sight.

I frowned, a knot of confusion tightening in my chest. The man who had spent the last twenty-four hours holding me, making me laugh, and looking at me with smoldering, carefree adoration didn't match the absolute terror radiating from the crowd.

“Why do they look scared of you?” I whispered, leaning close to his ear. “Is it just because you own this place?”

“Ignore them, mi reina,” he murmured, his voice a dark, lethal hum. “I want to show you my den.”

He guided me past the throbbing strobe lights of the main dance floor and straight toward a private, biometric elevator tucked behind a guarded VIP archway. Dante pressed his thumb against the glass scanner, and with a soft chime, he punched the button for the underground level.

The heavy metal doors slid open, and the air changed entirely. Heavy, thick with the scent of expensive leather, clean musk, and raw, sophisticated luxury.

A long, dimly lit corridor stretched before us, flanked by a pristine line of private, soundproofed executive lounges and curated art displays. Inside those quiet, upscale spaces, patrons could enjoy high-end spirits and privacy far away from the club's chaotic main floor. It was a secluded, exclusive sanctuary designed for those who valued discretion above all else. But right now, there are no other people except us.

Instead of feeling intimidated, I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. The quiet elegance of the space matched the profound respect Dante had shown me all weekend.

He has a lot of tattoos, a big body, and looks so harsh, but the truth is, he's soft. It's really true that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

"This is beautiful... and peaceful."

Dante stepped up directly behind me, his chest pressing flush against my spine, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive shell of my ear.

“The way you look at me,” Dante growled softly, his voice vibrating straight through my bones, “I know your husband can’t give you what you deserve, Livia. I can give you the life and the respect you actually deserve.”

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. He was right. Every dark, neglected part of me was screaming yes. But I keep my mouth shut.

For the next two days, San Diego became a fever dream. Dante wrapped me in a cocoon of dangerous, obsessive luxury. He didn't just court me because this man genuinely cherished me. He took me to hidden beaches at midnight, listened to me talk about art and fashion for hours with rapt attention, and treated me like a treasured queen while subtly peeling away every reservation I had left. Every touch of his hand felt like a vow, offering an intoxicating emotional safety I had starved for my entire life.

I should have stopped meeting him after our second day, but I didn't. I continued letting myself be wrapped in his intoxicating presence.

On our final night together, high up in his private penthouse overlooking the glittering city lights, Dante backed me against the window glass, his dark eyes burning with fierce, absolute clarity.

“Stay with me longer, please,” he said, his voice dropping all playful pretense. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing my cheekbone with infinite gentleness. “Leave the bastard. Cut the strings of that sham marriage, Livia. Let me give you everything your husband is too blind, too pathetic, and too broken to give you. I will burn his world to the ground if it means keeping you right here.”

I was drowning in him. Swept up in the intoxicating pull of his absolute devotion, my defenses shattered. I looked up into his face, my lips parting to say the single word that would destroy my old life forever... yes.

But then reality slapped me in the face with the truth when my phone vibrated violently against the glass table right next to us, shattering the spell of my freedom.

I flinched, pulling back just enough to glance at the screen flashing in the dark room. A single text message from an unknown number, but I didn't need the caller ID to know who it was.

Go back home before I call your parents, Livia.